


Wings of Victory

by Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragon Riders, character as dragon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one ever expected Steve Rogers to amount to much. No one would have predicted he would become a dragon rider to one of the rarest breeds on the Eastern seaboard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enlistment

**Author's Note:**

> So watching How To Train Your Dragon too many times, while re-reading Temeraire did things to me. This is just a fun little diversion fic on my part. Cap-verse as dragonverse. I like to have fun :)

The line at the enlistment office was long.

Steve glanced at his watch.

Telling Bucky he’d be half an hour was a mistake, especially when Bucky was the most impatient son of a gun known to man.

His name was called, and Steve rose, taking a nervous breath.

The doctor at the front of the room raised his eyebrows as Steve approached the desk.

"Rogers?"

"Sir," Steve said, straightening up to his full five foot five inches.

He could see the doctor’s eyes skimming over his record, and knew it was a long list of reasons to say no. When he turned the page to the colourful slip pinned onto the last page, his eyebrows rose even higher, and he looked Steve up and down.

"You’re a rider?"

Steve met his eyes defiantly. “They call us Captains,” he said, his hands balled into fists.

The doctor looked at the slip of scarlet paper again. “Says here you weren’t assigned at any of the culverts,” he said.

Steve raised his chin. “No, sir,” he said. “I got a Brooklyn Blue.”

If the doctor’s eyebrows could have lifted any higher, they would have. “A Brooklyn Blue? You’re kidding, right?”

"No, sir." Steve didn’t have much to be smug about, but he had Bucky.

He was one of the rarest and wildest of the east coast dragons. They had some other names, back in the day, but got so rare that everyone believed they were extinct. People tried catching them too often, and they went into hiding, but sometimes, once in a while, a feral one would show up, and it was always around DUMBO. Because the locals weren’t exactly up on fancy dragon names, they called the massive blue beasts Brooklyn Blues, and no matter what anyone else said, the name stuck. No one ever could figure out why they came there.

Steve knew.

Bucky told him there were caves deep under the water where they hid out. Everyone looked for dragons in the sky. No one looked hundreds of meters under the Navy Yard.

The doctor looked back at the medical records, frowning. All the ailments listed there should have ended up with a 4F stamp, but a Brooklyn Blue was something else. There was no record of any Blue ever taking a rider, especially not one half so sick as Steve.

Steve watched as he picked up a stamp.

It wasn’t red and it wasn’t a 4F.

"You’ll have to report to the aerial unit," the doctor said with great reluctance. "They’ll need to see your dragon’s capabilities before they confirm approval. They’re over on 23rd."

Steve bit down on his lip to keep from grinning as he gathered up his things, dressed and headed for the door. He looked around the street warily as he emerged, even up at the buildings. No sign, which meant he was in the clear.

He turned in the direction of 23rd, and thanks to his stupid hearing, didn’t hear the screams until they were right on top of him, a split second before a massive pair of talons, each the size of his torso, scooped him up and carried him up into the air. The dragon cut up between two buildings in a tight turn, and rose higher.

Steve yelled, more in indignation that fright, and socked one massive knuckle. “Buck! I told you not to do that!”

Above him, the dragon snorted. “Like I do what you tell me.”

“You’ll have to now,” Steve said, watching the mottles of Bucky’s scales change from the grey texture that blended in with the buildings around him to his regular royal blue. “If you show off well enough, we’re in.”

Bucky twisted his head to peer down at him. “In? In the aerial corps?” He swept down to land on one of the flat roofs of the buildings below, setting Steve down. “You’re serious?”

“Never more serious,” Steve replied, straightening his mussed coat. “We need to get over to the aerial unit to show them what you can do.”

Bucky sat on his haunches, tilting his head and staring at Steve. Most of the big dragons Steve had seen before were long, hulking things. Bucky looked more like a lizard crossed with a cat that had been tossed in a vat of bright blue paint. His talons drummed on the roof, a bad habit he’d picked up from Steve years before.

“You really want to do this, huh?”

Steve gave him an impatient look. “It’s the right thing to do, Buck,” he said, going to the edge of the roof and peering out over the drop. “Why should I get to sit back here, safe and well, when other people are going out there, risking their lives?”

“Because a bad cold could kill you?” Bucky said with a snort. Steve turned to glare at him, and Bucky rolled his shoulders in an expressive shrug, twitching his muzzle. “What? You know it’s true.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah,” he said, “I know, but we gotta do something.”

Bucky rose, arching sinuously, and came over to Steve’s side, lowering his head to prop his chin on Steve’s hair. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go be heroes.”


	2. Basic

Basic was humiliating.

Yeah, he came with a dragon, but the aerial corps were a whole other thing. They had harnesses that both dragon and crew wore, nets to hook below the dragon’s bellies, all kinds of weapons that could be latched onto the harness along with the gunners.

Steve had a length of rope he sometimes twisted around Bucky’s body to give him something to hold onto when they flew, but he hardly ever needed it. Maybe at first it had been necessary, but he wasn’t strong enough for his grip to make any difference. Anyway, Bucky usually just grabbed him up in his claws and carried him like a favourite toy. That was what he’d done the first day they’d met and it was a habit he’d never broken.

He could hear the other Captains and their crews sniggering as he tried to put a fresh rope on Bucky. He was nervous, and it was making his hands clutzy. When he dropped the end of the rope, heavier than the one he was used to, someone laughed out loud.

"That’s meant to be our support? You gotta be kidding me."

Bucky hissed long and low. Steve could smell the sulphur of his breath, even from three feet above his head. It wouldn’t help anyone if Bucky kicked off.

"Shut up," he growled.

On either side of his feet, Bucky’s front talons were curling up the dirt.

"Leave it," Bucky said suddenly.

Steve leaned back to look up at the dragon. “What?”

Bucky’s teeth were easily as long as Steve’s fingers, and they gleamed white. “Leave it,” he said. “Let’s show them how a real rider does it.”

Steve couldn’t help laughing. “How bad do you want to scare them?” he said.

"As far as I can," Bucky replied, then wrapped one set of talons around Steve’s middle and leapt. His wings cracked the air, and he shot straight up. That was the thing about the Brooklyn Blues: they weren’t big and they weren’t strong, but they were fast.

There was a training course that the heavyweights had been using, with obstacles and flags for their crews to collect as they did circuits. Most of them did it by jumping from dragon-back onto the obstacle and back again. Bucky made it easier. He dived steeply, and held Steve out at limb’s length to grab them. The ragged flag was coarse in his grip, and Steve’s chest felt tight. Sharp dives always did that to him, but Bucky wasn’t done yet. There was a flag in the middle of a ring on a high pole, big enough for a human, but not enough for a dragon. Bucky made it look easy. He tossed Steve right through the middle and caught him coming out the other side without any hesitation. All Steve had to do was hit the flag on the way through.

Bucky was doing his best to make him look good.

By the time they looped and spiralled and spun their way around the course, Steve had five of the seven flags, and had only been sick once.

When Bucky dropped to land, he did it as delicately as a cat, and deposited Steve on his feet on the ground. His nostrils flared and twisted up his muzzle.

"All over my claws?" he complained, knuckling at the dirt beneath him.

Steve smacked him on the chest, breathing too hard to say anything. The dragon lowered his head, nudging Steve in the middle of the chest. “God damn it, Rogers,” he groaned. “Don’t tell me you didn’t bring your inhaler with you.”

Steve punched him square on the nose, then reached into his pocket, digging out the inhaler. It didn’t do nearly enough, and he sank to sit in a heap on the pile of flags.

"Y’know, for a second there," a voice carried across the training ground, "it was almost impressive. Shame about the rider."

Steve looked over at the speaker, a man with a whole array of pins on his uniform. Colonel Phillips, he remembered. He heard Bucky growling, and put out his hand, wrapping it around one of Bucky’s talons.

"Don’t."

Bucky coiled around him, glaring around at the rest of the aviators, as if daring them to say something. None of them did, and Steve could take a guess as to why: no one knew what a Brooklyn Blue was capable of.

Most of the people who’d ever seen them had only seen them flitting about like dragonflies over the east river. They didn’t showboat their talents all that much, and no one had ever ridden one before. They were an unknown. You didn’t want to piss one off in case he turned out to be an acid-spitter or something.

Another man was standing by the Colonel. He was plumper, bearded, and unlike everyone else there, there was a small, genuine smile on his face.

Steve could hear the other crews talking and snickering. One of the Captains came over and told him to move his ass. “This is a training ground, kid,” he said. “You don’t get points for lying in the dirt.”

Bucky’s teeth snapped together a hand’s breadth from the man’s head. “Back off,” he snarled, his face right in the man’s face.

The Captain - Hodges, his name badge showed - raised his hands. “Hey, no problem, Blue,” he said. “Pick up your bag of bones. We need the training ground back.”

Bucky looked at Steve, then moved to lift him.

Steve shoved his claws away irritably, pushing himself to his feet with effort. “I can walk,” he snapped.

Bucky rose on all fours. “Sure you can,” he grumbled, keeping step with Steve.

Steve knew he could have leaned against him, but that would be giving up, so he walked tall, even though his chest was aching, and he could feel people staring. He raised his chin defiantly, staring straight ahead, and ignored them all.


	3. The Mess

The mess hall was crowded with dozens of aviators. Most dragons had crews made up of dozens of men. The aerial division had at least three heavyweights in training for deployment and they could easily carry their forty-strong crew.

The one-man dragons were usually couriers, and they didn’t stay long enough for their riders to sit down and eat. It meant that Steve found himself on his own, as all the crews found tables together.

Only one person approached him as he ate. It was a striking woman in the standard culvert uniform. There were no marks of rank, but he could see the Dragon crest at her shoulder. That meant she worked with the dragons. His best guess was intelligence officer.

"Ma’am," he said, rising.

 

"No need for that," she replied, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. Her accent caught him off-guard: pure, cut-glass English. "I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I’m afraid I’m rather curious."

Steve looked down at his bowl. Of course. She hadn’t come about him. “You want to know about Bucky,” he said.

"Actually, I would rather like to know how you persuaded him to be harnessed," she said. "According to all available data, Brooklyn blues are not inclined to take riders."

"He’s not," Steve replied. "Harnessed, I mean. We tried it but we could never make it work. It’s like trying to lasso a snake."

"No, no," the woman said. "When a dragon hatches, and you put the harness on the first time, forming a bond, that’s what we consider harnessing. It’s the difference between ferals and trained dragons."

"Oh." Steve frowned. "We never did that. He just told me I was his human."

The woman looked at him in astonishment. “That is rather uncommon,” she said.

He snorted. “So’s he,” he said. “I told him that wasn’t how it worked, but he insisted.” He shook his head. “The dumb jerk would fly to the moon to prove it’s made of cheese.”

"That," she said with a wry smile, "is rather more common."

"Hey, sweetheart!" The Captain who had laughed at Steve on the training ground called out. "This is the aviators’ mess. You might wanna get back to the secretary’s offices."

Steve saw the look of irritation flicker across her face. She looked over at the Captain and smiled sweetly. “I see, sir,” she said, disdain hanging on every word. “How awfully embarrassing.” She looked back Steve. “You’ll be training under Excelsior, along with the others, won’t you?”

"So I’ve been told," he said, trying to hide his nervousness.

The woman smiled. “I will be watching your training with interest,” she said, rising.

Steve flushed. “Well, don’t expect anything special,” he mumbled, remembering the laughter of the other aviators.

The woman’s red lips turned up in a smile. “I think people may be surprised,” she said. “See you at the training ground.”

Steve rose respectfully. “Ma’am.”

It earned him another smile before she walked away.

He finished up his bowl of stew, which was a hell of a lot better than anything he could’ve scrounge up himself. Aviators were valuable, he knew, but he never figured it meant they ate better too. He picked up his tray, carrying it back to the counter.

"Hey, Rogers!"

Steve groaned inwardly as the loudmouth Captain got up and headed his way. “Yes?” he said, setting his tray down.

"Yes, Captain," the Captain said. "Captain Hodges."

Steve grit his teeth. “Can I help you, Captain Hodges?”

"I’m just wondering how long you think they’re gonna let you keep that Blue, when we got a dozen Captains needing wings."

Steve felt like his blood was running cold. He’d never even considered that might be a possibility. Bucky wouldn’t be happy about it. “You’d have to ask him,” he said, turning away before he swung for the guy. He walked out of the mess and was running before he even hit the bottom of the stairs.

It wasn’t hard to find the dragons. If the reek of sulphur didn’t give them away, the looming walls of the culvert did. Steve ran into the courtyard then stopped at the sight of the dragon sprawled there. He’d never seen a middle-weight up close before. It was much bigger than Bucky. So much so that Bucky was able to nap on its back, which he was doing now.

They looked completely different. Bucky was a brilliant shade of blue, but the other dragon was the same colour as a rusted old steam ship, browns and coppers and reds. Where Bucky was sleek with no horns, the bigger dragon’s jaw and brow bristled with them. It had bony spurs jutting out by its mouth, bleached white. An acid-spitter, Steve thought in awe.

The massive dragon lowered its head to peer at him with interest. “So, you are this young scallywag’s companion, are you?” Its golden eyes were ancient and brimming with intelligence. It shook one wing out, dislodging Bucky. “Manners, Bucky,” it said in its booming voice. “Be a decent chap and introduce me.”

Bucky rolled down the dragon’s side with a grumble, and landed light as a cat on the cobbles. “Steve, Excelsior,” he said, stretching and yawning. “Excelsior, Steve. Can I go back to sleep now?”

The bigger dragon cuffed him across the shoulder with a knuckle the size of Steve’s torso. “You are in the US aerial division. No lazing about, laddie.”

Bucky made a rude noise and curled up like a cat.

Excelsior snorted expressively, then turned his attention back to Steve. “Enjoying being a Captain, boy?”

Steve hesitated, glancing at Bucky, then grinned. “It has its moments.”

Bucky lifted his head indignantly. “Hey!”

"Like I never said it to your face," Steve said, laughing.

He was bowled over by the dragon, who tumbled him to ground, growling. He yelled, punching at Bucky’s nose, then grunted when Bucky dropped his chin on his belly, driving the air out of his lungs.

Above then, he could see Excelsior watching them with amusement. Maybe it wasn’t the best way to behave in front of a senior dragon, but Bucky was grinning, all teeth, and they were in the aerial division. There were worse places to be.


	4. Chapter 4

A siren rang out on the stroke of two.

Excelsior rose from the cobbles and stretched out his wings. "I should get to the training ground if I were you," he said. "We will be beginning promptly." 

He took to the air with one downstroke of his massive wings, the gust nearly knocking Steve off his feet. Bucky steadied him, his muzzle pressing to the base of Steve's back. "You ready to see 'em?" he asked. He sounded as nervous as a dragon could.

"Sure," Steve lied. "How bad could it be?"

By the time they reached the training ground, he was starting to get the general idea. There were at least thirty dragons of different shapes, sizes and classes. There was even a Behemoth, one of the heavyweights from the Deep South. It was the same size as Excelsior, which meant it was still young.

"Jesus..." He murmured, staring around as they came in to land.

"Ain't that something," Bucky agreed, coiling possessively around Steve.

They didn't get long to be overwhelmed, because a uniformed Captain in flying gear and helmet was striding towards Excelsior. The dragon scooped his Captain up in one giant claw, setting him twenty feet off the ground. The Captain hooked on to the harness, and instantly, Excelsior was in the air. Communicating with shrills on a whistle, the Captain led the dragon through a series of complex, hair-raising manoeuvres.

"Look at 'em go!" Bucky exclaimed, up on all fours in excitement.

Steve was looking, and as excited as Bucky was, Steve knew for a fact he wouldn't be able to go half as high without his lungs giving up on him. He had no idea what use he could be, but he was going to give it a shot.

Excelsior descended back to alight with surprising grace for something so big. He lifted his Captain down, and Steve wasn't the only one to exclaim in surprise when the Captain removed his helmet only to reveal the face of the woman from the mess hall.

"Did you know?" He hissed to Bucky.

"Know what?"

"That the Captain was a woman?"

The dragon looked at him in amusement. "You really think she's the only dame to ever ride?"

Steve wanted to ask more, but the unfolding scene was too much of a distraction. Captain Hodges had walked forward, looking annoyed. "Where's his real captain, sweetheart?"

"Pardon me, Hodges," she said, smiling like her dragon. "I do believe you have overlooked something." One gloved finger tapped her sleeve and the patterned epaulettes attached there. 

Steve was close enough to see Hodges go bone white. The man pulled to attention, looking horrified. "Yes, Commodore. Sorry, ma’am."

The woman smiled placidly. "Gentlemen," she said, "I am Commodore Carter. I shall be supervising your training. If you would mount up, we shall put you though your paces and see how well you can work in basic formations. When you are called, take to the air. Excelsior will be giving the orders to the dragons."

The aviators scattered for their dragons.

Steve swung up onto Bucky's back with a boost from the dragon. "Don't hold back," he muttered. "They need to see what you can do."

"What about you?" Bucky asked, twisting his head to look at Steve. "Don't want you falling sideways again."

Steve socked him on the shoulder. "Just do it," he snapped. "I'm not gonna break."

Bucky snorted. "Your funeral."

He should have listened. Less than half an hour later, when Bucky landed, Steve fell from the harness, wheezing and light-headed. The dragon chuffed in indignation, but let Steve lean against his foreleg.

"Captain Rogers, do you require assistance?" Commodore Carter called down.

Steve pushed himself defiantly upright. "All good," he rasped.

The woman arched her eyebrows, but Steve wasn't ready to be seen as useless. He stubbornly picked his way towards the edge of the training ground, only putting out a hand to lean on Bucky's limb once or twice.

There was a man waiting at the edge of the grounds, watching him. Judging by his clothing, he was a civilian, and a shabby one at that. He looked tired, and his greying beard and hair were mussed, but he was smiling.

"An impressive display," he said in accented English. 

It was true that Bucky had matched the best of them, even if Steve hadn't.

Steve braced himself on Bucky's side. "Thanks," he said. One word answers felt easier right now, his chest still painfully tight.

The man looked between them. "Come," he ordered. "I have inhaler that will help you."

When Steve opened his mouth to say he was fine, Bucky caught him around the middle, picking him up. "Lead on," he said as Steve punched his scaly knuckle in annoyance.

It turned out that the man was a doctor, and he knew what he was talking about. He set Steve into a chair with the nebulizer, and Steve's tight chest eased up in seconds after he used it. From the courtyard outside, Bucky was watching him fiercely, and only relaxed when Steve's wheezing eased.

"Much better, yes?" Doctor Erskine said. He was pouring them both a steaming mug of coffee.

"Yeah. Thanks," Steve replied, glancing around. 

He and the doctor were sitting under a canvas lean-to that was in the next yard over from the training ground. From the medical kit lying on trestle tables, it looked like they expected casualties from training. Steve reddened. 

So far, there was only him.

The doctor noticed his expression. "You are ahead of many," he said. "Last week, we had crewmen fall off when a harness is breaking." His dark eyes glinted. "You are not falling. This is very good."

Bucky snorted in indignation. "Like I'm gonna let him fall."

Steve shot the dragon a smile. "East river, buddy. I don't forget."

Bucky's spines rose along his back and he curled up huffily. "You didn't believe me when I said hold on."

Steve lobbed a rolled up Kleenex at him. "Jerk." He turned his attention back to doctor Erskine, who was smiling quietly, nodding to himself.

"Tell me, Captain, would you be willing to take part in some tests to improve your aerial tolerance?"

"Yes."

Bucky's voice overlapped his. "What kind of tests?" He was up on all fours, growling.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sorry about him, doctor. He worries."

The doctor smiled. "Only small things to improve the captain's physical capabilities, Herr Dragon. He must be able to breathe more easily if you are to fly in combat."

"He's not gonna try and kill me," Steve added. "Don't be such a baby."

Bucky stuck his head into the tent and against Steve's chest, nuzzling him. "If he does, I'll eat him," he rumbled. "Feet first."

Steve met the doctor's eyes, as he scratched Bucky's jaw. "So... there's that."

The doctor only laughed.


End file.
